It was an easy matter for Sam Barringford to let himself down into the hollow tree. He had to clear away a little snow, but found the tunnel practically empty. It was only a small affair, dug for bitter emergency, and ran directly from the hollow tree under the palisade, and came out near a corner of the storehouse. It had several turns, around rocks and roots of trees long since cut down, and it took some time for the old frontiersman to worm his way along until he reached the vicinity of its termination. To light his way, Barringford had brought along a small torch, and now he stuck this behind him, in the wall of the tunnel. In front of him was a large flat stone, covering the end of the passageway. He placed his ear to the stone and listened. Not a sound broke the stillness beyond, and gently but firmly he pushed on one end of the stone. It was frozen fast, but at last came away, letting down a small shower of snow. “Covered with snow, eh?” he murmured to himself. “So much the better. They ain’t found it, an’ more’n likely they don’t know a thing about it.” With extreme caution he continued to push upon the stone, until he had raised up one end a foot or more. Beyond, he now discovered a drift of snow, covered with an icy crust. All he had to do was to clear away the snow, break the crust, and step out into the open, less than ten feet away from the door to the storehouse and stable. Not deeming it wise to go further in the daylight, Barringford allowed the stone to drop into place once more, and wormed his way back to the hollow tree. The others were anxiously awaiting his return. “What did you find?” asked Henry. “We can git in that way, if we want to,” answered the old frontiersman, and related the particulars. Dave was for entering the post at once, but Joseph Morris shook his head, and Barringford did the same. “We had better wait until nightfall,” said the planter, “and in the meantime perhaps we can throw Jean Bevoir off his guard.” “Let us pretend to go away,” said Henry. “Have a talk with him, and say you will come back with a company of regulars from Fort Pitt.” This was considered a good suggestion, and a little later Joseph Morris walked again into the open, waving his white handkerchief. At first nobody paid attention to him. Then Bevoir showed himself once more. “Jean Bevoir, we have talked matters over,” began the planter. “We want you to consider well before you decide. Will you give up the post, or do you want us to return to Fort Pitt and bring a company of soldiers here to fight you?” “I vill not give up ze post, no!” shouted the French trader. “Then you want us to bring the soldiers from Fort Pitt?” “You cannot do zat,” was the reply, but a look of anxiety crossed the bronzed features of the French rascal. “I think I can do it. Captain Ecuyer is my friend, and was the friend of my brother. He will aid us all he can.”